The Spreading of Death
by I Am SomeoneI Am No One
Summary: God, was he dying? Without even telling him how he felt- Rosalia's claws would devour him before he could. Death would steal him, and he would join the rank of corpses that it had wrought. Had it driven him insane? it must have. sequel to The Touch. H/G


"...Doctor, are you well aware that you have just-"

"Shut *up*, RONI," The diagnostician growls through his teeth, closing his fingers around his bloodstained palm, touched with Death... wiping his lips of the crimson liquid and getting back to his feet. "I am well aware of what I just coughed up; I'm not blind." He makes for his desk, pulling some tissues out from its box and wiping his palm off, before taking the ruined things over to the disposal slot. There was a strong ache in his chest, especially in the area of the right lung and heart, like pinpoint spots...

Everything, all the evidence, points to one thing. It all points to Death.

He wasn't willing to accept it.

Instead, he returns to his chair, behind his desk, taking in a couple of slow, deep breaths in order to ease himself through the pain... and once it dies down enough, he looks back up, brushing some of his bangs out of his face. His skin feels hot... he has a fever.

How long ago was it that he found the man he loved unconscious at home, fearing he was dead, touched by Death...? Two, maybe three days ago? He was alright now... only a slight scar on his chest showed evidence of his infection. That man... he could survive anything. He took two bullets to the chest once and barely even flinched... of course he could live through a Rosalia infection. His emotions just got the better of him at the time when he found him...

Now, he, if he *did* have it... he wasn't so sure if he could.

The diagonostician pushes himself back in his chair, swiveling it around to face RONI's screen hanging in the corner of the room, putting his cigarette back on his lips for a couple of moments. "...Hey, RONI. What is the possibility that I have the Rosalia Virus?"

The supercomputer barely even whirrs before she replies with, "Judging the length of time it has been ever since you found Dr. Freebird at home with infected blood on him, I would say... a 97% chance. Did any open cuts come into contact with the blood, or did you touch your face with bloody hands?"

Well, shit. Now that he thinks on it... he had wiped his face with the back of his hand after he had calmed down enough from his emotions completely getting the better of him that day. Maybe there was blood on it... With a heavy sigh, flinching as the pain in his chest sharpens a little, he leans his head back into his head, trying his best to avoid a coughing fit. "Well, yeah, I guess I did... your point?"

"Doctor, have you forgotten that the Rosalia Virus spreads through mucous membranes? The Virus has most likely entered your body through a point on your face; I would guess either your eyes or your mouth."

"Ergh... that's kind of a creepy mental image." Unable to resist the coughing any longer, he tips his head back forward and cups his mouth as the fit starts... tasting iron in his mouth yet again. More blood... and the pain in his chest has grown, grown so much it feels like someone is ripping his chest into shreds...

How much longer could he deny that he wasn't infected with Death's poison?

How much longer could he bear to look into the face of the orthopedic surgeon and say-

The next thing he knows, he's awake on the floor... in a puddle of blood. Groaning, he fights to sit up, a hand coming up to his head... it's awfully hazy, and it feels heavy... now becoming aware of RONI's voice trying to reach him. Spitting out a mouthful of blood, he speaks, albiet a little weakly... "Hey, hey, RONI, I'm right here... don't throw a shitfit."

"I have every reason in the world to throw a 'shitfit', as you called it, Doctor. We were speaking, and you suddenly had a rather violent attack... I kept you stable throughout the attack."

Ah, so that's what that little pinch in his hip is. His supercomputer had made use of her mechanical attachments, installed in order to help him in the office better, and injected him with stabilizer to make sure he wouldn't quite die so soon... and now she was helping him sit up better, before that attachment goes for his clothes.

Wait, his clothes-

Before he can even utter a retort, the supercomputer has successfully ripped through his overcoat, and has lifted the shirt underneath... revealing the giant black bruise, revealing Death's Claws, crawling across his chest, to the world. He tries to rip the attachment from his clothes, but, the supercomputer mantains her grip... her voice coming out very odd... "...Doctor. You are infected with the Rosalia Virus. You *must* seek immediate medicial attention!"

Finally, he manages to break away from her attachment, yanking his shirt back down and rebuttoning his overcoat, pushing himself onto his feet. He doesn't know why, but for some reason... for some reason he wants to cry. At the same time, he's half tempted to run his fist through RONI's screen. And... and at the same time, he wants to leave. He wants to seek out help-

He wants Hank-

Was he going insane? Was this why he was so confused, so emotional?

...That has to be it. This is all a deliusion. He doesn't have the touch of Death. There is no blood on the ground, no blood on his clothes, no Virus colonies in his body...

He's not desperately in love with that man...

He's just plain insane.

...And for some reason, he finds this hilarious.

Finally, he can take no more. The pain in his chest magnifying, the haze in his mind growing, an insane laugh begins to rip from his lips, his hand sweeping to the side and knocking the contents of his desk onto the ground. Tears... are these tears? Or is it blood? The deliusion has grown too strong for him to tell (-was it even a deliusion anymore?-); instead, he lets whatever it is, may it be blood, tears, whatever it may be, run down his face as he continues to release whatever is hidden inside, pent up-

(-hidden because he didn't want to admit-)

-his fist going into RONI's screen, the blue rings rippling around his hand as if made of water-

(-admit that he had been infected with Death-)

-a gargled scream ripping from his throat, choked with blood-

(-too confused by his emotions over-)

-the feeling of something inside of his chest exploding, the bruise leaping up to devour the skin of his neck-

(-that man... this aching feeling-)

-sobs beginning to escape him... or was it screams?-

(-love... he loved him, didn't want to hurt him-)

-the room in a wrecked mess before him-

(-he didn't want to die..! Not without admitting-)

-staggering outside, into the hallway... slumping against the wall as more blood pours over his lips, more coughing leaves his chest... hands gripping at the bruise slowly crawling up his neck to consume him... a scream of pain, both physical and emotional, ripping-

(-why...?-)

-and then, he knows no more of light, of the hall, just blood and darkness-

(-never knowing if he-)

The sounds of the diagnostician screaming was the thing that draws the orthopedic surgeon out of his office. It's the scent of blood that hits the air that sends him running in the direction of the screams. Panic and horror grips his very being- was it true?

Did he pass on Death's poison to the man he loved?

Did he kill him-

At last, he reaches the hallway where he last heard the screaming... a strangled gasp escaping the large man as he spots the diagnostician in a crumpled heap upon the ground (-covered in blood, his own poison-) , blood slowly oozing around him in a crimson puddle...

Coming to a screeching halt next to his body, knees touching down in the evidence of Death... hands scrabbling to turn the diagnostician over onto his back, to see if Death had taken him, to look upon his own guilt-

Gabriel couldn't be dead...!

He passed on Rosalia to him through his own blood... this makes this his fault!

He killed him...!

A scream-

-it is his, right?-

-echoes down the hallway, enough to send one running... the surgeon's hands moving to undo the diagnostician's shirt, to see the damage- seeing it before his very own eyes as he finally grows impatient and just rips the coat and the shirt open. The mark of Rosalia has spread... it now goes all the way across his chest, up his neck, and threatens to crawl past his jawline and onto his face.

Death is making its move... to steal away the life of the diagnostician.

He doesn't know what he's doing anymore. He's aware that the endoscopist has rushed into the hallway, closely followed by the paramedic and general surgeon (-thank god he was here for another surgery, maybe he could help -), but he's no longer aware of his own movements. He can hear the callings of his friends, feel himself rushing down the hallway, carrying the man he had infected in his arms-

(-was he doomed to die?-)

-literally kicking down the doors to an operating room and placing the man down on a table. He had to save him. He had to!

This was all his fault...! Looking upon what he had caused, his own guilt -

(-this is all his fault-)

-but he had to save him...! He couldn't let Death take him! Even if he had caused this infection, he could save him!

He wasn't going to let the man he loved die because of him...!

The endoscopist rushes in, motioning for the paramedic and the general surgeon to stay outside (-she had a feeling that Dr. Freebird was lost in his own emotions, too frightened beyond listening-), gathering supplies as the nurses Emma and Darnell ready anesthesia (-the orthopedic surgeon was throwing out orders, desperately readying the man for surgery-), placing quite a few vials of antiserum and protuberation medicine on the table. Then, as the man is being put under, she reaches out... grabbing the large man by his coat as he places on a mask and a pair of gloves.

She had to try... if he was too panicked during the operation, he'd go out of control...

"Dr. Freebird... please, I know you are scared... we all are. But, for Dr. Cunningham's sake, you must calm yourself... we can destroy the Virus. There's still time...!"

Slowly, she eases the man into a slightly calmer state, picking up a scalpel after the nurses make the readying motion that everything is good to go. The vital machine is beeping a little faster than usual... his vitals were dropping by the minute. Gently, she presses the thing into the man's hand, rubbing an area on the diagnostician's chest with antibiotic gel, and then easing his hand onto the incision area.

"You can do it, Dr. Freebird. I believe in you."

The haze is broken. Making a nod to the endoscopist, and taking in a deep breath-

(-he's still scared, still frightened, and, most of all, overwhelmed by guilt-)

-he makes the first incision.

He wasn't qualified to do this. His knowledge was mainly sourced around bones, their workings, and the machines and devices that go with them... he wasn't a general surgeon. One wrong move, and he really could kill him, here on this table... but he has the endoscopist to help him. She knows about operating on the organs, even if she's using a camera... she can help.

Following the words of the young Japanese heiress, he locates the first Virus colony... the deadly flower shaped colony in full bloom, splotchy red and black center pulsing within purple biolim petals. Behind it, a couple of other colonies have already burst, leaving the man's lung half covered in Death's angry claws... picking up the blue vial and a syringe, he injects it into the center, watching as the thing expands behind its deadly petals. Next...

Scalpel. Must stay focused... cutting away at the center until it comes loose, at which the endoscopist reaches in with a pair of forceps and plucks the now green and black center out of the organ, the large man taking out the biofilm petals. He follows up with a couple of injections of pink Rosalia antiserum... a small area of Death's touch fading away. Now to continue...

This continues on for an unknown period of time... cleaning up the man's right lung, and a couple of the Virus colonies that had managed to attach themselves to the man's heart (-he thought he was going to die of sheer fright at that part, watching the colonies simply eat away at the organ-), and now-

Suddenly, it appears before them... a cluster of colonies on the left lung. Six in all-

(-the Devil's touch, blackness eating the organ, panic and fear setting in-)

-the endoscopist grabs onto his arm to make sure he doesn't start up again, easing another syringe into his hand, and instructing him on what to do. Slowly, the first injection goes in... three colonies in all protuberating slightly. She feels the man tense at this new development, and, yet again, she soothes her friend with a couple of words, and tells him to try again on another. And the surgery continues...

Eventually, all of the colonies have been protuberated... the orthopedic surgeon can hear the paramedic yelling at him from outside, since there was a video feed in the observation room, encouraging him... a couple of calming words from the general surgeon following. The endoscopist gives his arm another comforting squeeze and passes him the forceps, smiling lightly at him.

"Remove them and inject the antiserum, Dr. Freebird... he'll be safe after that."

(-safe...-)

Quickly taking out all of the colonies and their biofilm bases, he picks up the pink vial and the matching syringe yet again... finally eliminating the last of the Devil's touch. Fighting off Death... Gabriel was safe.

Safe at last...

(-saved from his mistake, his own guilt-)

The diagnostician is sutured up, antibiotic gel and a bandage covering the wound... the orthopedic surgeon staggering away from the table as soon as Emma and Darnell rush forward to take him away to a room. The endoscopist carefully steadies him out again, cleaning up all the supplies... patting him on the arm. She smiles at him...

"It's alright now, Dr. Freebird."

Those words were the words he had been wanting to hear... the words he kept a focus on throughout the entire operation, the only thing that kept him going even though he thought he was going to fail, fail and let the man he loved die, die because of him-

(-guilt...-)

They had done it though.

He was safe... safe at last.

(-a tearing at his heart-)

...He had to get out of here. Had to get out of this O.R, had to get away from here-

(-had to see him-)

-rushing away from the room as his mind clears, allowing his emotions to come back through, having pushed them back throughout the operation-

(-tears rushing down his face-)

-a burning, throbbing, familiar ache returning to his chest-

(-heartache... is that what they'd call this?-)

-finally reaching the room the man is resting in, heading inside, seeing him sleeping peacefully in the bed, still breathing, heart still beating-

(-or is it what they'd call-)

-he stops. Let's his eyes take in the sight of the still living man, the man who will soon open those ochre eyes again, have that smug grin back on his lips, and tell him that he was a moron yet again...-

(-can he let himself break down after all of this?-)

-everything hurts.-

(-he's safe. but it doesn't change the fact that you did all of this-)

-everything hurts...!-

(-can you even bear the thought?-)

-and eventually, the man lets himself slip down to the floor, hide his shameful face with his hands, and cry.-

(-cry the tears of guilt-)

"Gabriel... forgive me...!"

(-for what I've done-)

(-for infecting you-)

(-for hurting you so-)

(-forgive me.-)

-He looks up after a while, after a while of just crying, letting his guilt out... he's still resting. Still sleeping peacefully in the bed, as if nothing was wrong in the whole world, chest still moving up and down, electrocardiogram still carrying a heartbeat, green, jagged lines on the screen... a steady beat.

One that brings comfort... and yet, still reminds him of his guilt.

(-visions of black bruises still filling his mind-)

Calm yourself... he's alive. He's your friend...

(-you love him-)

He'll forgive you for your mistake. He will...

(-just keep repeating that, maybe it will come true-)

Slowly, he gets to his feet. How long has he been here...? A while, considering how badly his body hurts, both from the reminants of his infection, and from crying so much... brown eyes landing back on the man in the bed again.

(-he really does look peaceful, doesn't he?-)

He comes over to the side of the bed, sitting down in the chair next to it... letting the chaotic emotions raging inside of him die away a bit before he dares to reach out... gently clasping the hand of the diagnostician.

(-it's still warm...-)

He allows himself to close his eyes.

"I'm sorry for hurting you, Gabriel..."

(-for causing you so much pain-)

"I can only hope and pray that you can forgive me for my mistakes..."

(-forgive me for almost killing you-)

"...I..."

(-why is it so hard to say those three little words? he's not even awake...-)

He closes his mouth, and simply shakes his head. The grip on his hand increasing a little...

And soon, the soft imprint of a kiss lingers on the back of the diagnostician's hand.

(-he'll never know... he's sleeping.-)

"I'm sorry."

(-wake up soon. I'm begging you.-) 


End file.
